


On the Outs

by withthekeyisking



Series: Sladick Fics [14]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics)
Genre: An Outside Look at the superhero community, Breaking and Entering, Crack Treated Seriously, Day 1, Dick Grayson is So Done, Dick is confused and anxious, I don't know what else to tag, M/M, Parent Slade Wilson, Slade is Amused as Fuck, SladeRobin Week, SladeRobin Week 2019, Thief Dick Grayson, Thief Jason Todd, Thief Tim Drake, This is crack, Threats of Violence, a bunch of other characters are referenced, i don't even know what this is, is it really treated seriously though?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 11:04:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20777534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/pseuds/withthekeyisking
Summary: Dick is gonna kill Jason if he gets out of this.





	On the Outs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nxttime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nxttime/gifts).

> SladeRobin Week 2019 Day 1: **Caught in the Act** | Collars
> 
> Dedicated to [nxttime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nxttime), who (though not really shipping Sladick) spent hours with me while I wrote this, and messaged me increasingly incredulous comments as she read it, absolutely making my day by shouting at me about Dick Grayson's poor life choices.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!

"Slade Joseph Wilson," Jason proclaims, dropping a group of files on the desk in front of Dick with a loud_ thud. _

Dick blinks up at him in surprise, taking in his brother's slightly smug expression, crossed arms, and raised eyebrows, and then glances down to the new material in front of him.

He flips open the top file, examining the photo revealed. It's a man, maybe early forties, with shockingly white hair and a sharp blue eye, the other covered by a simple black eyepatch. The photo is only of the chest up, but what Dick can see of the body is broad shoulders and obvious muscles. He's handsome, Dick notes, in a rugged sort of way.

"Slade Joseph Wilson," Dick echoes, an invitation to continue, and looks back up to Jason, who still looks terribly pleased about something. Out of the corner of his eye, Dick can see Tim look up from his laptop, a slight furrow between the younger boy's eyebrows.

"Slade Wilson, born October 10th, 1956, which makes him sixty-three years old, which is odd considering-"

"Considering he looks twenty years younger than that?" Dick interjects dryly.

Jason nods. "Precisely. And _ no, _ to answer the follow-up question," Jason continues, glancing pointedly at Tim, "I've found no evidence that he's a meta, though of course that's always a possibility these days."

Dick considers the information, then nods, indicating Jason should continue.

"Wilson joined the army at age sixteenlied about his age, of fucking coursewhere he quickly rose through the ranks. Ended up marrying his commanding officer Adeline Kane-" Jason gestures for Dick to continue flipping through the file, which he does, revealing a photo of a seriously badass looking woman, practically glaring at the person behind the camera. Dick raises his eyebrows, then looks back to his brother as Jason continues speaking.

"-and having a child, Grant Wilson, born April 14th, 1989. Slade was discharged from the military after he disobeyed direct orders to go after a friend who was on a suicide mission. That friend, William Randolph Wintergeen-" another gesture, and Dick flipped the page, revealing a man slightly older than Wilson. Unlike the photos of Wilson and Kane, Wintergreen has a small smile on his face, mirth in his eyes. "-was an SAS member, and retired very soon after Wilson's discharge.

"Wilson and Kane went on to have another child, Joseph, born December 5th, 1995. A couple years pass where the family doesn’t really do muchregular schooling, quaint little house, the worksthen Wilson starts working as an independent contractor with old pal Wintergeen. Far as I can tell, he does security work; pretty good at it, too.

“Then, sixteen years ago, there was an accident involving Joseph Wilson. The police report makes it sound like an old enemy came knocking, and it resulted in Joseph losing the use of his vocal chords. Adeline packed up the kids and left Slade, which _ definitely _ implies whoever it was, was after him.” Jason smirks. “Along with the family, Adeline Kane took his right eye.”

Tim whistles. Dick has to say he agrees with the sentiment.

“They all fall pretty quiet after that, with some school records for the boys here and there, a job that Slade was cited working every couple years. Then, about eight years ago, Grant Wilson died. There’s not a real record of how that happenedthey were living kind of middle-of-nowhere at the time, so the records are just hard copybut however it happened, it made Slade vanish for about two years. Like, completely. Couldn’t find a record of him anywhere.”

Jason pauses, and Dick resists the urge to roll his eyes at the dramatics. “Okay, Jay, I’ll bite,” he says, an amused grin tilting up a corner of his mouth. “Where did Mr. Wilson end up reappearing?”

“That’s the thing,” Jason says, shaking his head, chuckling slightly. “It was like nothing had changed. One day Wilson was completely MIAWintergreen just as missing, FYIand the next he was buying a house and continuing to live his life. Travels a lot for work, but has a home base. There’s like, absolutely zero record of Adeline still though, no clue where she fucked off to. Joseph’s taken some community college classes in New York City though, so we at least know the kid’s still kicking.”

“Why bring this to us, Jay?” Tim asks curiously. He’s looking at the files in front of Dick, a crinkle between his brows that tells Dick something is caught in his brother’s head. “I mean, cool story and all, but...” He trails off, looking up to Jason expectantly.

“The guy is absolutely _ loaded,” _ Jason tells them, a thrum of laughter under his voice. “I was tracking some of the jobs he’s done, I looked up the property records for his housethis guy has some serious cash, and I was thinking he could be our next target.”

Well, _ now _ Dick understands why Jason’s looked so cocky this entire time. Lately, his little brother has been trying to plan more jobs, take on a bigger role. Jason’s always been gifted and taken to new skills like a duck to water, but most of the time he’d been happy letting Dickor even _Tim_pick their targets.

Jason’s been acting cocky because he’s _ nervous. _

Dick looks back down to the file in his hand, flips past the photo of Wintergreen. There’s a couple more pictures in thereshowing Dick what the kids look likeand then past them is all the information Jason had just given a rundown on. Dick reads it all over again anyway, always liking to get his own eyes on something after hearing it from someone else, and then reads it again.

He hasn’t gotten this far in his life without being thorough.

“You said he does security work,” Dick says, looking back up to Jason, and his little brother nods. “Are you sure he’s a good idea? His house will be locked up _ tight.” _

Jason and Tim scoff simultaneously. It makes Dick grin, an amused huff escaping him.

“Oh _ please, _ Dickie,” Jason drawls. “Like we couldn’t crack it anyway.”

Really, Dick _ should _ reprimand the cockiness. Arrogance in their line of work is often a death sentence. Many people who have worked longer and harder than them have been taken down because they got too sure of themselves and their place in the world; if there was one thing Dick had decided when he started all of this, it was that he would _ never _ be like that.

But he and his brothers _ are _ pretty good at this and, yeah, so far there hasn’t been a house or building the three of them couldn’t get in if they really took the time to plan. They’ve always been successful.

(Well, they weren’t successful at Wayne Manor, but they don’t talk about that event if they can help it. Besides, they still got in and out completely intact, so Dick tries to still count that job as a win.)

Still, there’s something about this that doesn’t sit right with him. There’s something familiar about the name _ Slade Wilson _ that he can’t quite place, and he knows by the look on Tim’s face that he’s having the same problem. It makes Dick wary to take this job on.

“Where’d you even hear about this guy, anyway?” Dick asks.

“You remember that job we did in Star City a few months back?” Jason replies, as if there’s any way in _ hell _ Dick could forget a job that resulted in them meeting a vigilante (meeting a vigilante, for that matter, while not _ actually _ doing anything illegalit was an odd job).

“Of course.”

“Well when we were pulling out of the security system, there was somethin’ a little weird about the set up of the cameras, so I checked it out, and apparently it was like this really high-tech _ who-gives-a-fuck-"_

“Language,” Dick corrects mildly.

“-that a Mr. _ Slade Wilson _ apparently used for clients wanted some extra protection.” Jason smirks. “That’s _ also _ how I know we can get into his house easy peasywe already broke the system he put together; this’ll be a cake walk.”

Dick considers for another few moments, trying to place where he’s heard the name, before letting it go with a small sigh; it’s probably nothing, after all.

“Alright, Jay,” he says, offering his little brother a small smile. “What do you have in mind?”

* * *

When it comes to planning jobs, Dick lives by one very simple motto: Better to be overprepared than under.

It’s a motto that has, many times, been his (and his brothers’) saving grace. Even when things seem simple, even when it looks like a cakewalk, he wants to know each and every detail down to the smallest of things about not only the place they’re going to break into, but also the person who owns it all.

Slade Wilson was proving to be difficult in that regard, simply because he’d spent so much of his life away from things that would leave consistent records, but not enough to be a real burden on their planning.

Dick doesn’t like the lack of information, he really doesn’t, but just because they don’t know an extreme amount about the _ man, _ doesn’t mean they don’t know just about everything there is to know about the _ house._

Property records, a thorough list of the utilized security measures (cameras, motion sensors, the _ works)_if there’s something to know about the house of Slade Joseph Wilson, then they know it.

Of course, the fact that the man lives in Florida_Miami, _ of all placesdefinitely brings about a few snickers from Dick and his brothers, plus a joke or two about how old people always find their way to the Sunshine State.

They’re in Keystone at the moment, so the flight to Miami is only about three hours. Dick spends the time trying to look more into Joseph Wilson; the twenty-four-year-old is living in New York currently, teaching ASL classes at a community center. His time in New York is clearhe’s been there for five years at leastbut what he’s actually been _ doing _ there all this time is a bit spotty. There are records of him taking a couple college classes, him working at a dinner for a few months, but overall...

Dick can’t find any record of Joseph Wilson having an apartment, either. Maybe he’s just been living with a friend, not actually on the lease, but it’s just one more detail that rubs Dick the wrong way about this family.

He tries not to let himself linger on the subject too much, knowing it won’t do him any good, and pretends not to see Tim researching Grant Wilson in the seat next to him.

It seems they’re _ both _ stuck on things that don’t add up.

After the plane lands, they make their way out of the airport, grabbing one of the taxis waiting outside and rattling off the address of the hotel they’d booked for the duration of their stay.

“This is insanity,” Tim mutters ten minutes later, staring incredulously out the window. “That is the _ third _ car to almost hit us by swerving in front of us.” He glances over to Dick and Jason. “Do people here understand the concept of turn signals?”

Dick cracks a grin at him. Jason snorts, shaking his head, but he’s smiling too. “Gotham doesn’t often have things better than other places, but at least people don’t drive like _ this.”_

“No,” Dick agrees dryly, “you just have to worry about a police car chase breaking out at the drop of a hat.”

The taxi driver squints at them in the rearview mirror, and Dick flashes him a charming smile.

The hotel they’ve chosen is about a forty-five minute drive away from the Wilson residence. Normally they’d go for something much closer, but that simply wasn’t possible this timeit seems that Slade has chosen a house quite removed from society, in a way that Dick didn’t even think was _ possible _ in a city.

“I didn’t even think Miami _ had _ woods,” Jason mutters, frowning down at the property records an hour or so later in their hotel room. “Like, why _ Miami?” _ Then he shoots Dick a look. “No more old man jokes, I can’t stand it.”

Dick bites his tongue, just smiling, and nods towards the door. “C’mon; time to scope the place out.”

Another aspect of Dick’s need to always be overprepared: no matter what, they will watch the place they’ve chosen to target for at least three days before any action is taken. The length of time often goes up for bigger targets, but for one remote house? Unless they see anything troubling, Dick doesn’t expect to be in Florida for very long.

House watching is, as a general rule, pretty boring, especially an empty one. It seems that at the moment Wilson isn’t homeprobably somewhere off doing his job, or whatever it is the man does while traveling all over the worldso all Dick and his brothers are doing is making sure that the things they have on record matches up to what they’re looking out, and getting a feel for the area.

There’s still a lot about this job that bugs Dicklike how Slade Wilson’s name rings a bell, and how they don’t actually know how Grant Wilson died, or what Joseph Wilson’s really been up to in New Yorkbut he has to admit that he’s getting that familiar thrum of excitement under his skin as the job comes together.

When he was little, his goal definitely wasn’t to become a master thief, but he is pretty damn good at his job, and after all these years he can admit to himself that he _ likes _ it. And right now? This moment where everything about the job is so clear, the win so close he can practically _ taste _it?

Yeah, it’s definitely one of his favorite parts of doing this.

“Still empty,” he announces at the end of the third day, entering their hotel room. Jason looks up from where he’s lounging on the couch in shorts and a t-shirt, a book propped open beside him, and raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah? That mean you’re finally done making us sit around and twiddle our thumbs?”

Dick rolls his eyes and doesn’t comment, since there’s actually no bite in his brother’s voice. “I figure we can hit tonight, since it _ has _ been incredibly quiet,” he muses. “Normally I’d say wait ‘till the next night, but we’re ready and nothing’s happening, so I don’t see the harm.”

Jason beams up at him, probably still riding high on the fact that the job he put together is coming to fruition, and nods. “I’ll go get ready.” He scrambles to his feet and jogs off into the bedroom.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Tim frowns at Dick. “I agree that this all looks solid, but I’d simply like to pose a question before we actually do this.”

Dick raises an eyebrow. “What’s up, Baby Bird?”

“Does any of this-” he gestures to the papers spread out on the table, the backgrounds they have on the Wilson family, “-seem kinda _ off _ to you?”

Dick grimaces. “Yes,” he admits. “I _ know _ I’ve heard the name _ Slade Wilson _ somewhere before, and the shit with his kids? It’s...” He shakes his head. “But honestly, Tim? Looking past how the _people _ involved make me a little uneasy, the job seems solid. We’ve been watching the house, we know the security system inside and out, and we’re good at our jobs. This is going to be fine.”

Tim still looks a little unsure, but he nods. “We _ are _ pretty good at this,” he acknowledges, and that make Dick laugh, nodding.

“Yeah, Timmy, we really are.”

* * *

At midnight, they move.

Tim handles the security cameras easily, but the motion sensors are tricky enough that they can only switch them off for six seconds before keeping them off will send out an alert, so that means Dick has to cross the entirety of the front lawn and attach himself to the side of the house within that window.

Well, Dick’s had to run faster for far higher stakes in the past, so he’s confident in his ability to pull this off.

_ “Okay I’m turning them off in three, two, one-” _

He hears Tim’s voice in his ear, and then he takes off, sprinting across the grounds, the world around him completely silent save for his own quiet breathing.

He keeps the count in his head, Jason echoing it in his earpiece, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been so grateful to feel wood against his front as when he presses himself against the wall of the house, just as Jason’s voice starts to say the ‘S’ for _ Six. _

“Well,” Dick breathes quietly, heart pounding in his chest. He can’t help but grin. _ “That _ sure was something.”

He feels a knot of anxiety loosen in his chest, and acknowledges that, okay, _ maybe _ he wasn’t as confident about making that run as he told his brothers.

_ “He clear on the sensors, Redbird?” _ Jason murmurs.

_ “No alarm bells,” _ Tim confirms. _ “Cameras are still looped, and everything else is sitting pretty. You’re good to move, Robin.” _

Dick allows himself a small smile. “Up I go, then.”

Slowly, he creeps his way two feet to the left, closer to the large trees that sits at the base of a second-floor windowDick’s chosen point of entry.

Climbing the tree is easy, years of being a circus kid and then a thief shaping his skill into something effortless, and he makes his way up the trunk and across the branches quickly and silently.

When he reaches the window he shifts closer, examining it. There’s an alarm attached to the inside, the kind that would send out an alert if the window opened, but Dick’s dealt with this kind of thing countless times and it presents barely any trouble as he hacks into it and disables it before inching the window open, ears straining to hear any signs of trouble.

On quiet feet he slips inside, gently closing the window behind him, and glances around. The room’s pitch black, but the lenses of his goggles have night-vision, so it doesn’t present a problem, and the bathroom around him is perfectly clear in shades of green.

He waits a second, then another, before letting out a slow breath. “Everything seems A-Okay,” he tells his brothers. “I’m moving on.”

_ “Roger, roger,” _ Jason drawls in reply.

Dick moves towards the door; it’s cracked open, so he simply nudges it further and steps out into the hallway. He has the house’s floorplan memorized, so he heads to the study, the place the records say a safe was inserted years back.

The study looks exactly like just about every one Dick’s ever seen, with a dark wood desk and matching bookshelves, a couple armchairs, a chaise against one wall. Dick scans the room, slowly walking around the length of it, running his hand along the walls, looking for

_ Ah._

He smiles when he feels it, the _ slightest _ of difference between one panel and the next, the _ slightest _ change in texture. Definitely wouldn’t be visible to the naked eye. Most likely wouldn’t be noticed by someone regular touching the wall. But Dick’s been at this a long, _ long _ while.

“Gotcha,” he murmurs, pleased, and then sets to work.

Dick won’t say this part is _ easy, _ per say, because cracking safes is always a fickle thing, but it’s at least _ familiar. _ He knows his tools, knows the way safes _think, _ and once you’ve got those two things down then cracking any safe is simply a matter of time and patience.

Of course, _ this _ safe is deciding to be a complete and utter _ bastard _ to him.

_ “How’s it comin, Big Bird?” _ Jason asks after a little while, interrupting Dick’s staring contest with the safe.

(The safe is winning.)

“It’s coming,” Dick replies, voice strained. He lets out an annoyed breath. “I mean, I’m not _ surprised _ that a man who makes his living doing security work has a really excellent safe, but I’d also really _ appreciate it _ if there were a few less fucking failsafes in this thing.” He snorts, having amused himself with the unintentional wordplay. “Too many failsafes in the safe,” he reiterates, and can picture his brothers rolling their eyes.

_ “Well, you’ve definitely got time considering there’s no one around,” _ Tim says thoughtfully, _ “but I’d also really like you out of that house as soon as possible.”_

Dick lets out a soft groan. “Me too, Baby Bird.”

He gets back to work.

It takes a whiletakes a _ long _ whilebut eventually he hears that beautiful _ click._

“Ah,” Dick breathes, a grin spreading across his face. _ “There _ you are.”

_ “That sounds like a happy sound,” _ Jason says. _ “Tell me that’s a happy sound, Rob.”_

“That, Little Wing, is a _ very _ happy sound,” Dick replies with a light laugh, pulling the safe door open.

At first, he doesn’t really comprehend what’s in front of him. He sees the various forms of currency, and the multiple passports from different countries. He sees the blades. He sees the guns.

For a little while, Dick just stares. “Uh.”

_ “D? You okay?” _ Tim asks.

Dick blinks. That is...a _ lot _ of weapons. “Um.”

_ “Robin,” _ Jason calls sharply. _ “What’s going o-”_

Static cuts his brother off.

Dick’s heart slams in his ribcage, his tongue darting out to wet his lips unconsciously. His hand jerks up to his earpiece, tapping to try and reconnect. “Corvus? Redbird?” Nothing but static. _“Fuck. _ Guys, okay, I’m heading out, this is-”

The light in the room flicks on, causing Dick to slam his eyes shut as suddenly the night-vision in his goggles becomes a hindrance instead of a help. He taps the side of them quickly, reverting them back to regular sight, and whirls around to face the door.

The first thing to pop into Dick’s mind is _ Wow, the files weren’t kidding about him being 6’5”. _

The second thing is _ Wow, he's holding a gun, and I am absolutely about to die. _

Slade Wilson stands in the doorway, dressed in a simple pair of sweatpants and a tank top, arms hanging loosely at his side. His right hand is wrapped around the grip of a handgun, and even though it’s pointing at the floor at the moment, the threat of it does not feel even slightly less.

Dick’s seen Wilson’s marksmanship scores from the army. It’s...not something to laugh at, that’s for sure.

For a long moment, the pair of them just stare at each other. Dick waits for the man to raise the gun and fireafter all, Florida has _ Stand Your Ground _laws, Wilson would be perfectly within his rightsbut he doesn’t do anything, just continues to watch Dick with a placid expression, not moving.

Frankly, it does absolutely _ nothing _ to lower Dick’s anxiety. Especially considering that _ knowing _ Wilson was this big is very different from _ seeing _ what that means, and being faced with this mountain of a man is...well, it’s _ something, _ that’s for sure. Even in just sweats and a tank top, the guy cuts an imposing figure. On top of being _ super _ tall, he’s heavily muscled, in a way that definitely isn’t just for show, and the eyepatch is a solid reminder of the _ lack of eye _ underneath.

And all of that is, of course, ignoring the _ gun _ in his hand.

Dick swallows nervously and figures _ hey, _ what could be the harm “Hi,” he says, lifting a hand into an awkward half-wave. “It’s, uh, nice to...to meet you.”

_ That _ earns him a raised eyebrow and the quirking of one side of Wilson’s mouth into something that could be _ considered _ a smile, but Dick isn’t sure whether or not having the gun-carrying man smiling at him is good or not. But hey, smiling means not shooting _ (at the moment) _ so Dick will take what he can get.

“You hungry, kid?” Wilson asks, and Dick

Well, for a moment, Dick simply _ gapes _ at him.

And now, yeah, Dick can definitely see the amusement creeping into the man’s expression as the second eyebrow raises up to meet the first.

“ISure?” Dick says, voice higher in pitch than he’d like to admit, and Wilson simply nods back at him before turning and walking down the hall.

Dick has thoughts of running and _ escaping _ for all of two seconds before Wilson says, “Everything you deactivated has been rearmed, and with a few _painful _ security methods thrown in if you feel like taking your chances.” A pause. “Plus, if you run I’d shoot after you, and those are _ definitely _ not odds that people tend to come out on top with me.”

All the same, Dick tries to picture his escape route. But the truth is he _ doesn’t _ know what else Wilson has activated on his property, and the way the older man phrased the part about people losing oddswell, Dick isn’t so sure he wants to try his hand at that.

So, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself (entirely unsuccessful, really), he follows Wilson out of the study, down the stairs, and into the kitchen.

He taps his earpiece again, just to test it, but still gets nothing but static. Does he ask? Would that just draw attention to his brothers if Wilson isn’t purposefully jamming the signal? Are his brothers even still safe? Should he

“How do you take your coffee?” Wilson asks over his shoulder.

Dick stares. Because this is just_what._

“Uh, sugar, please,” Dick says hesitantly, when Wilson just waits for an answer. The man hums his acknowledgment, and Dick can see his amused smile in profile, which he doesn’t quite know what to make of. Is the amusement good? Does him being _ amusing _ mean he gets to live? Because Dick can be _ amusing _ all goddamn night if that means he gets to not be shot.

Wilson gestures to one of the bar stools, saying, “Sit,” in the tone of voice of a man who doesn’t often get told _ no. _

Oftentimes, voices like that _ really _ make Dick want to be argumentative. Jason’s the one with the clear authority issues, but Dick’s certainly never denied having some of his own.

All the same, Dick sits.

The man has a _ gun, _ okay?

Neither of them say anything, then, the only sounds in the kitchen that of Wilson making coffee and...

Is that _ bacon?_

Dick is going to lose his mind if this man makes him breakfast. This will be the end of him, he simply will not be able to continue if the _ terrifying man _ he is currently _ trying to rob _ makes him some fucking _ bacon. _

_ Get your shit together, Grayson, _ he tells himself, taking a few deep breaths.

The gun, Dick notes, has been tucked into the waistband of Wilson’s sweatpants. Normally, Dick would chastise someone on poor gun safety, but he’s pretty sure this is neither the time nor the place. Wilson most assuredly knows what he’s doing, anyway.

Dick has seen those scores.

“What’s your name, kid?” Wilson asks, not turning to face him. Dick doesn’t know whether or not he should feel insulted, how easily Wilson shows him his back, like he’s not even slightly a threat.

And, well, it’s not like Dick is _ going _ to attack him, but still.

“Robin,” Dick replies, because he’s very far from an ameatuer. No names and no removal of masks or gloves in the fieldeasy rules, ones they always stand by.

Wilson cocks his head, and then glances over at him. The sweep of that cold blue gaze locks him in place, his body tensing in an automatic _ flight _ response, but Wilson turns back to what he was doing easily enough, turning off the flame and scooping some food onto a plate before putting it in front of Dick.

Bacon. Bacon, and fucking _ eggs._

Dick takes a few deep breaths.

“You’re from Gotham,” Wilson notes, making Dick look up from the plate sharply, hands curling into anxious fists. Wilson puts up his hands in a gesture of peace (because that makes him look any less threatening) and takes a couple steps back.

“I’ve heard of you, that’s all,” Wilson tells him. “The thief _ Robin _ originated in Gotham.”

Dick reminds himself that Slade Wilson is a _ security consultant, _ and thus would probably keep up to date on the best thieves, so he could do his job the best, or whatever.

“Right,” Dick agrees, throat tight. “I’m...yeah.”

“So those other two on the line-” Dick goes _ rigid, _ “-they would be Corvus and Redbird then, yes?”

Dick reminds himself that attacking a gigantic man with a gun is a Very Bad Idea.

“Why do you want to know?” Dick grits out.

Wilson observes him for a moment. “Family, then. Interesting.” Dick sucks in an afraid breath to protest, but Wilson is still speaking before he can. “They’re not harmed, if you’re wondering. Knocked out by this point, probably, but nothing a little rest won’t fix.”

Dick is almost overwhelmed by how badly he wants to leave, wants to find Tim and Jason and make sure they’re okay, get them _ far away _ from this place and this man who is _ obviously so much more than we thought, and why didn’t I listen to my instincts, why_

“I’m not too great with panic attacks,” Wilson says mildly, “so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t have one.”

Dick blinks at him. And he can’t help ithe laughs.

“Right, sure,” Dick agrees, still chuckling. “Makes sense.” He looks down at the plate in front of him, momentarily contemplating the idea that Wilson might have poisoned it, before ruling that outif Wilson wanted to kill him, there’s a perfectly good gun tucked into his sweatpants. So, he picks up the fork, and takes a bite of eggs.

They’re good, of course. Because this night can’t get any weirder.

“How long have you been doing this?” Wilson asks.

Dick glances up and sees the older man watching him, leaning back against the counter with his arms folded loosely over his chest. His gaze is intense, makes Dick’s breath catch in his throat for a moment, and it makes him wonder if this is how a snared animal feels, watching the hunter approach.

Frankly, Dick doesn’t really want to give out any information on himself; it would just invite more problems in the long run. What he _ wants _ is to get the hell out of there, find his brothers, and never return to Florida ever again.

But hey, the longer he holds up a conversation with Wilson is the longer Dick gets to stay alive, so he figures just this once he can talk a bit more than he usually prefers.

“About...sixteen years now? Almost seventeen.”

Wilson snorts and incredulously asks, “How _ old _ are you, kid?”

Another piece of information he wants to keep to himself. _ Damn. _ “Twenty-six.”

Wilson hums, an acknowledging sound, and looks him over again. Dick suppresses a shiver at the single-minded intensity of that blue eye. “And what leads a ten-year-old boy to a life of thievery? What, your parents not give you a big enough allowance?”

Dick clenches his jaw. Wilson makes that acknowledging hum again.

“Ah, you’re an _ orphan, _ then. _ Now _ we’re getting somewhere.”

“What do you _ want?” _ Dick snaps, unable to help himself. “Why all these questions? Are you going to shoot me or call the police?”

Wilson tilts his head slightly, looking completely unbothered by the hostility in Dick’s voice. “Do you _ want _ me to shoot you or call the police?”

Dick looks at him in exasperation. Wilson’s lips twitch. Neither of them say anything for a long moment.

“So, are they your brothers by blood, or just a couple fellow orphans?”

Dick pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to wrap his head around the absolute strangeness of the situation he’s found himself in, and then shakes his head. “I’m not answering that question.”

A slow smile spreads across Wilson’s face, and Dick can’t stop himself from tensing at the sight. It’s not a _ happy _ smile, nor a particularly _ friendly _ onesomething about it reminds Dick of the weapons, money, and passports he saw in the safe. It reminds him that Slade Wilson is far more than they’d originally thought.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” Wilson asks, and it’s like a bucket of ice water down Dick’s spine.

“Of course I do,” Dick says boldly, but he’s really not as sure about that as he was two hours ago.

Wilson cocks an eyebrow. “Oh? Do tell.” Dick hesitates. Wilson smirks. “I can point the gun at you if it will make you talk faster, kid. No skin off my nose.”

“You really just want me to give you a run-down _ on yourself?” _ Dick asks incredulously. His heart is speeding up in his chest.

“Go on,” Wilson says firmly, completely unmoved.

Dick opens his mouth, closes it again. Takes a deep breath. Figures, _ what the hell, why not._

“Slade Wilson, sixty-three years old, retired army colonel. Father of two, ex-husband of Adaline Kane, security consultant.”

Wilson barks out a laugh, sharp and surprised. He examines Dick’s expression, and then laughs again. _ “Security consultant. _ That old lie still holds up? Jeez, thought that would’ve faded _ years _ ago.”

And, okay, yeah, Dick can admit that he’s a little freaked out. Or a _ lot _ freaked out, whatever. Because if he didn’t _ already _ feel like his life was in danger, he certainly does _ now._

“So, uh,” Dick begins hesitantly, really unsure if he wants to ask this question, _ definitely _ sure he wants to leave the building immediately, “what _ do _ you do, then?”

“I’m a _ mercenary, _ kid,” Wilson tells him, sounding extremely amused. “I go by _ Deathstroke.”_

Dick, for a moment, doesn’t comprehend what he’s just heard. Becauseno. Just..._no. _ There’s no way he just broke into the house of the most prolific mercenary in the world. There is absolutely zero way he is standing across from the Terminator, eating eggs the man _ made him._

That’s not how life works. It’s just not.

“Nope,” he says, not having meant to say it out loud, and Wilson breaks out into a sharp grin.

“Kid, how did you even find this place?”

“Your records are all online,” Dick says faintly, blinking rapidly as if that would make everything in front of him vanish. Maybe this is all just a dream, and he can wake up and call the mission off because clearly he’s getting bad vibes.

He discreetly pinches himself. It does nothing.

Then it clicks.

“Holy shit, Joseph’s Jericho.”

In a single instant, Wilson’s whole demeanor changes. A second ago the man was fairly relaxed and easy-going, most certainly amused by Dick’s panic; now, Wilson stands to his full height, looking down at Dick with a hard, cold expression. The gun’s back in his hand before Dick even sees his arms move, and though it’s not aiming at him, he feels the threat all the same.

His mouth goes bone dry. He can hear a faint ringing in his ears. He wonders what will happen to his brothers after Deathstroke kills him.

“Excuse me?” Wilson asks coldly.

Dick stares for a moment, completely unsure about what to do, his pulse like a jackrabbit in his ears.

“That’sI knew I recognized your name,” Dick gets out. “When coming here, I mean, I, uhI knew your name, but I couldn’t place it.”

“Go on,” Wilson instructs, his body language not changing in the slightest, his voice sending shivers down Dick’s spine.

“A few years back, I met some of the Titans on a joblong story, I’ll tell it to you sometime if you don’t kill meand there were these dudes with ninja swords, and I saw Jericho sayI mean, I know ASL, sosay something about how his dad would get a kick out of it, and then Kid-Flash replied that _ Slade Wilson would get a kick out of anything violent, _ and the comment didn’t mean anything to me at the time, but like, I _ knew _ that I knew your name, so that’s. Yeah.”

He barely dares to breathe in the silence that follows his rambling, Wilson just _ watching _ him, and Dick wonders how he could’ve possibly expected a man like this to be anything other than a killer, because _ damn _ that look of his just _ screams _ mercenary.

Suddenly, Wilson turns away, striding out of the kitchen without a word. Dick blinks after him, unsure about what to do, knowing that an attempt at escape would be ultimately pointless.

After a hesitant moment, during which Wilson doesn’t return, Dick picks up his fork again to resume eating. He ignores the coffee; he’s wired enough as it is right now, and he doesn’t need to add to it.

It’s a solid five minutes later that Wilson comes strolling back into the room. He looks a lot less, well, _ murdery _ than he did before, the gun not even on him, his posture completely relaxed and unbothered. Dick watches him warily, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but Wilson just leans back against the counter like before, hands slipping into the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Superheroes really should be better about keeping their mouths shut,” Wilson comments.

Dick just nods dumbly, unable to think of a single thing to say. Wilson’s lips twitch.

“When was this?” he asks.

Dick thinks back. “About...four years ago, maybe?” Yeah, that sounds right.

Wilson hums a simple acknowledgment, and then doesn’t say anything else. The room falls silent, the pair of them just staring at each other.

After a little while, Dick can’t stand it anymore, so he blurts out the first thing to pop into his head. “Well, I can add one more to my list of Big Players I’ve met.”

Wilson snorts, amused, and asks, “Oh? So who else is on this _ list _ of yours?”

“Batman, of course,” Dick starts, because as a Gotham criminal that’s a given. “Catwoman a few timesshe's great. Jericho and Kid-Flashas we, uh, _established_plus Beast Boy was there during that whole thing, too, and Starfire.” Dick cracks a grin at the memory. Starfire was _something,_ that’s for sure.

“Met Red Arrow a few months back, he was pretty cool,” Dick notes. “Oh! I met Big Blue himself when I was just starting out, though not as a thief, and _ that, _ let me tell you, was _ awesome.” _

“Shouldn’t you be far more of a _ Batman _ fan than Superman?” Wilson asks, his mouth quirking upward into something of an amused smile.

“Well, I mean, in a _ fight _ I’d root for Batman, but if you were to ask me what superhero is currently on my underwear, that would be the Man of Steel.”

Wilson’s eyebrows slowly go up, a contrast to the way his eye drags downward, following the lines of Dick’s body, lingering momentarily on where said underwear would be.

Dick's cheeks heat up, both at the realization of what he just said _(what a time to have word vomit)_ and the way the other man is looking at him. He swallows hard when Wilson’s gaze lands back on his face, a predatory smirk tilting the mercenary's lips.

“I’m sure it’s a good look,” he murmurs, and Dick’s cheeks get even brighter as he avoids eye contact, regretting every life choice that has brought him to this moment.

"Right," Dick coughs, sheepishly rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. He searches his mind desperately for another topic, for something else to say, but he's drawing a complete and utter blank when faced with that smirk.

Because, okay, it's not like Slade Wilson is unattractive. Very far from it. And even though he's over sixty years old he looks at least twenty years younger than that, even with the white hair.

_Deathstroke has enhancements,_ Dick remembers suddenly. _Wilson _is_ a meta; that must be why he looks so young._

"So tell me, kid," Wilson rumbles, and begins stalking towards him like an animal on the hunt; Dick barely restrains himself from scrambling to his feet and backing away. "What am I supposed to do with you?"

Dick stares up at him, wide-eyed, mouth dry. The man's so _close_ now, and absolutely _gigantic._

"Well," Dick says hoarsely, "you could always just let me go."

Wilson chuckles, a deep and rolling sound. He moves around behind Dick, who twirls around on the barstool immediately in an attempt to keep the man in his sights. Wilson doesn't seem bothered by this, easily taking the opportunity to step in close, placing his hands on the table to either side of Dick, effectively trapping the thief there.

Dick freezes and fights not to gape, not to lash out in the instinctive urge to escape when someone tries to capture him.

Dick's never done very well with captivity, with being kept still.

"Now why would I do that?" Wilson asks him lowly. The words are so quiet, but with how close they are now (Dick can feel the heat radiating off of the man, feel his shirt shift with his breaths) Dick has no trouble hearing him.

"I haven't taken anything," Dick replies, and is very impressed with himself for keeping his voice even. Wilson adjusts his stance, stepping slightly closer and planting himself between Dick's legs. Dick swallows. "This was just a big misunderstanding, and I swear I won't tell anyone where you live, or what security you have on your house. I just want to get my brothers and get out of here."

His worry for Jason and Tim has spiked all over again. Wilson implied that they were unconscious, which means that there's someone else here. Dick's money is on Wintergreen, if _that_ bit of their intel wasn't off the mark, but Dick's still disturbed by the fact that Wilson and this anonymous person were somehow here for the three days they were watching the house and they never saw _either_ of them.

"Your _brothers,"_ Wilson echoes, rolling the words around in his mouth contemplatively. "Tell mehow _did_ three orphans such as yourself wind up as accomplished thieves? The three little birds; you have quite the reputation. Smart, quick, quiet, good at keeping out of the public eye." Then, with a smirk, he adds, "Steady under pressure."

"Flatterer," Dick says dryly, heart pounding in his chest. He wants the topic to shift away from himself, doesn't want to discuss Jay and Tim, but

"Tell me," Wilson reiterates firmly. He shifts forward, looming a bit more over Dick, and the thief fights against the urge to lean further back across the table, not wanting to lose any ground, despite how tempting it might be.

So, he goes for the simplest version of the story.

"Corvus tried to rob me," Dick says, smiling slightly at the memory. "I'd been acting as Robin for a few years at that point, and he showed promise." _And he had no one,_ he doesn't say. _He was alone, on the streets, going to wind up dead._

"And Redbird-" _was unloved and abandoned,_ he can't say. _We technically kidnapped him,_ he can't say. _I'll kill you if you lay a hand on them,_ he most certainly won't voice. "-is smarter than all of us combined, and would've ended up ruling the world if he hadn't joined up with us."

Just then, there's the sound of a door opening, and two sets up footsteps, one far heavier than the other, and the faint sound of something being dragged across the floor.

Two figures come around the corner. One is instantly familiarWilliam Wintergreen, Wilson's longtime friend and partner. The other, however, Dick doesn't know; a girl, maybe mid- to late-teens, with the same shockingly white hair as the man currently trapping Dick in place.

Slung over Wintergreen's shoulder is an unconscious, bound Jason. Being dragged behind the girl is an unconscious, bound Tim, the girl gripping the ropes around Tim's ankles.

A strangled noise finds its way out of Dick's throat and he surges forward, jerking towards his brothers. Wilson doesn't budge an inch, making Dick snarl.

"Let me go!" he shouts. "Let them_please,_ let them go." His voice is almost desperate towards the end, but he can't bring himself to care; these people are _dangerous,_ and his brothers are very vulnerable at the moment. Dick is so unbelievably terrified.

Wilson watches him curiously, and then looks over to Wintergreen with a raised eyebrow. "You took your damn time."

The other man rolls his eyes, unimpressed, and then sets Jasongentlydown on the ground. The girl lets go of Tim's legs with far less care, the boy's boots hitting the wood floors with a loud _thud._

"What do you want me to tell you, Slade? They're smart; they were well-hidden, and managed to avoid our initial attempts to knock them out."

"And we took them _downstairs,"_ the girl adds, and her tone is practically _screaming_ air quotes around the word, and Dick's surprised she didn't go all the way and actually say _wink-wink nudge-nudge._

In front of him, Dick hears Wilson sigh.

"Made sure there weren't any trackers, or anything," the girl finishes. "Just in case. Billy said that's what you'd do."

"Please let them go," Dick says again, tryingand probably failingto keep the panic out of his voice. "They didn'tthis was my job, I picked your house, I planned it, they just went along with it. Please, _please,_ don't hurt them."

"Don't you worry, little bird," Wilson drawls, "I have no intention of hurting your brothers. Or _you,_ for that matter." Something sharp curves his lips. "Well," he amends, "unless you ask me to."

The girl makes a gagging noise and says, _"Gross,_ dad."

Dick blinks, startled. _"Dad?"_ Well, at least the white hair makes sense.

Wilson hums, and after a moment he steps back, putting a bit of space between them again. Dick isn't sure which feeling is strongerrelief or a tingle of loss.

"Yes, this is my daughter. I'm not surprised she didn't show up in your researchit's rather a recent development." Wilson looks over to the girl. "Go shower and get ready for bed."

The girl's face scrunches up in displeasure. "But daddy-"

"No buts," Wilson says sharply. "You just got back from a mission five hours ago; you need rest. Now _go."_

The girl grumbles but does as she's told, turning and heading for the staircase with one last curious glance at Dick.

"I'm going to go do the same," Wintergreen says. "Shout if you need assistance," he adds, but Dick startles when he notices that the man is looking at _him_ when he makes that offer, _not_ at Wilson.

"Iright. Thanks," Dick stutters. Wintergreen offers him a kind smile and then heads after the girl, vanishing upstairs.

Without Wilson pinning him against the table, Dick realizes that he's free to go to his brothers, so he does, rushing over and then dropping to his knees between them. He feels for their pulses and lets out a relieved breath when he finds them strong and steady. Their breathing, when he checks that next, is just as healthy.

Suddenly he finds himself breathing a little easier, a weight he hadn't even realized he'd been carrying lifting away.

He can feel Wilson's eye on him, but he ignores it, setting to work on untying Jason and Tim. Their bindings are relatively simpleonly meant to keep them still in the event of rousing from whatever drugs have been usedso Dick undoes the knots with deft fingers, rubbing gently at the reddened skin that is then revealed on their wrists and ankles.

Something Wilson said pokes uncomfortably at his mind, and he frowns, glancing back at the man. "What did you mean when you said she only got back five hours ago? No one's gone in or out of this house in three daysI've been watching."

Wilson smirks, amused. "About three miles west of here is a hidden entrance that leads to an underground tunnel, which leads directly to the subbasement of this house. No one ever has to see us coming or going, if we use that."

Dick laughs a little, startled. "That's almost as bad as Batman," he chuckles, and looks back to his brothers, checking their pulses again in paranoia.

"Oh, _do_ tell what you mean by that," Wilson purrs, sounding far closer than he was a moment ago, and Dick tenses, realizing he's let something slip.

"Yeah, no," he says awkwardly, keeping his eyes on Jason and Tim, "I'm absolutely not sharing anything about Batman. Gotham criminal code, or whatever."

_I'm not supposed to have this knowledge anyway,_ he muses. _Usually, jobs gone wrong don't involve finding hidden caves underneath mansions._

Wilson hums, the sound thoughtful, but doesn't say anything.

After a few moments of anxious silence, Dick stands up again and turns back around, looking at the mercenary cautiously. The man_ did_ say that he isn't planning on hurting them, but Dick knows better than to simply take dangerous people at their word. Then again, Wilson's had ample opportunity to do something to them, and he hasn't.

"So what now?" Dick asks.

Wilson cocks his head, examining him. His arms are crossed loosely over his chest, his posture perfectly relaxed. Dick doesn't doubt the man's just as dangerous like this as he is with a full suit of armor on and a gun in his hand.

_"Now,_ you have a couple options," Wilson tells him simply. "None of which involve you leaving the house tonight."

Dick's chest tightens with anxiety. "Oh?" he prompts, aiming for nonchalance, probably missing it by a mile.

Wilson dips his head slightly in confirmation. He strolls forward a few steps, bring them closer together, but doesn't enter Dick's space like he did earlier, instead staying just at the edge of arm's reach.

"Those two-" Wilson nods towards Jason and Tim, "-aren't going to be waking up for a while now; there are many empty bedrooms upstairsthe three of you are welcome to use them for the night, with the obvious clause that you don't attempt to rob me while you're here."

"Why would want us to stay?" Dick asks incredulously. "I mean, I literally broke in here to steal from you. Why aren't you, I don't know, more angry?"

_Stop _talking_ Grayson,_ he chastises himself; _now is _not_ the time to ask why the scary mercenary isn't hurting you._

"Call it a future investment," Wilson says dismissively. "Now, option two is very similar to option one, but I have to admit I like it far more."

Dick looked at him warily. "And what would that be?"

The smile Wilson aims his way is positively wolfish, his blue eye dark and hooded in a way that makes Dick shiver in a not wholly unpleasant way. The man takes another step, then again, until once more they're close enough for Dick to feel the mercenary breathing with every move of his shirt.

Wilson grips Dick's chin firmly and tilts his head up so that their gazes are locked. Wilson has seven inches on him and is far broader, and it makes Dick feel a little lightheaded; this is someone who could crush him like a bug and barely break a sweat, definitely not bat an eye.

That shouldn't make Dick's heart race the way it does.

"Option two still involves the usage of the free bedrooms I have upstairs," Wilson murmurs, his hot breaths ghosting across Dick's face, making him shudder, "but it also involves you sharing mine."

Dick stares up at him, wide-eyed, lips parting in surprise.

"This is not, just so you know, a requirement," Wilson continues when Dick says nothing. "I have no interest in the unwilling. If you say no, then I'll show you to an empty room, and you can stay the night undisturbed." He brings their faces a little closer together. "But trust me," he purrs, "you certainly wouldn't have a bad time."

If someone had told him when he started out that one day Deathstroke the Terminator would be inviting him to fuck, while also stressing the importance of consent, Dick would absolutely not have believed them.

Given, Dick was _nine_ the first time he stole something, so maybe that isn't a good example.

What does it say about him that he actually wants to agree to this? _Really_ wants to agree to this?

"I-" Dick begins, and then clears his throat. "Yeah, that's..." Words fail him, soexasperated with himselfhe simply pushes himself up on his tiptoes and presses his lips against the mercenary's, one hand snaking up to curve around the back of his neck.

Wilson doesn't hesitate to press closer, deepening the kiss and wrapping an arm around Dick's waist to haul them together, his other hand drifting down and squeezing Dick's ass, making the thief moan.

"So," Wilson says as he begins to kiss and nip his way down Dick's neck, "do I get a _name,_ since you have mine, or do those pesky goggles have to stay on?"

Dick pants, already feeling a little out of it, and thenafter a moment of debatereaches up to his goggles, only hesitating a second before pulling them off. He blinks against the suddenly unfiltered light, but doesn't have long to adjust before Wilson is pulling him back in for a passionate kiss, leaving Dick breathless when the elder man finally pulls back to continue his path down Dick's neck.

"Dick," the thief blurts out, moaning as Wilson sucks at a particularly sensitive spot under his jaw, and Wilson pauses, pulling back slightly.

"Pardon?"

Dick laughs. "No, sorry, I'm not calling you athat's my name. Richard. I go by Dick."

Wilson chuckles. "If you say so, little bird. Now-" he grips Dick's ass tightly and pulls him up, making Dick yelp in surprise and then wrap his legs around the man's waist; Wilson holds his weight effortlessly, and Dick's not ashamed to admit that's pretty hot, "-how about we move this upstairs?"

Dick blinks rapidly. "My-my brothers," he says, trying to keep his brain on track, something that is becoming increasingly harder as their hips slot together _just right._ "They-"

"Billy will come down in a little while and move them into beds," Wilson interrupts immediately, already starting to move towards the stairs. "They will be fine. We have better things to do than _worry,_ at the moment."

Tomorrow, Dick will look at the strangeness of this evening and question his sanity. He'll question how the hell he went from attempting to rob the place, to being terrified that he was about to be killed, to moaning as the other man's facial hair scratches pleasantly against his neck as Wilson sucks what is sure to be a large hickie.

He'll scream about all of that tomorrow.

But for now, he squeezes his legs a little tighter around Deathstroke's waist and allows the man to pin him to the bed, drowning in the kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> When reading Dick's comment about his Superman underwear, nxttime messaged me _"hnnnnnn holy shit grayson wanna tell him what porn you watch next?"_
> 
> She then did not appreciate my inclination to include that in the fic 😁 and sent me:  
_"JESUS CHRIST I WAS KIDDING_  
_DICK BETTER NOT TELL SLADE WHAT PORN HE WATCHES_  
_I'LL FUCKIN DIE_  
_I WILL CEASE_  
_I WILL JUST INSTANTLY DISAPPEAR_  
_I WILL LITERALLY JUST CEASE"_
> 
> Guys, I _adore_ my friends :) Also! I kinda got attached to this 'verse so I'm gonna be writing a fic about how the batboys came to be thieves, and actually telling the stories I reference here. Dunno when I'll post that, but I hope you stick around!


End file.
